It ignites, only to fade out just as quickly
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Stan contemplates the water. Tw's in the chapter headings. SO HI GUYS! I'm on a computer...so. Have some angst! Love Ya! Don't die! And if you need a talk, I'm always here. I'm also a great conversationalist. Ask my wall. Or my mirror. They think I'm great! XD.
1. Let go-

**HI! I'm back with MORE angst! I'm also on a computer, hurray! Man, I missed typing...tw: Suicidal thoughts, attempt, and metaphors. Btw another chapter is imminent.**

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It was over.

The light was fading over the horizon, casting shadows over the trashed landscape. Stan wasn't sure if anyone actually bothered cleaning up after themselves in Glass Shard beach. He knew that it was technically a crime to litter, but no one ever seemed to notice how many broken bottles and crumbled papers rolled across the streets. Maybe he should try and clean it up himself. Maybe that would be better.

Stan sighed and let his body slump against the rail. The dull sunset was mirrored in the water and he stared at it, breathing in and out in a steady beat. The water was probably the cleanest, purest thing in all of Jersey. It glittered and lapped at the shore calmly, not a care in the world. If Stan had ever wished for a superpower, it would be power over the water. Water was just so...much. It was peaceful and calm. It was angry and dangerous. It was necessary for life, yet it took life just as easily as it supplied it. It didn't let politics or differences stop it from doing anything, or stop it from doing nothing. It did what it wanted too. It was uncontrollable.

It was beautiful.

Stan leaned further over the rail. What if he just...jumped? What if he let the water take control for once, rather than fight against it? Swimming was hard in these waters, but Stan was a superb swimmer. It helped he had learned to swim at this very dock. Half of the trick was knowing when to let the water guide you, and when to swim against the current. What if he just, didn't fight? That didn't sound right. Stan was good at fighting. It was the only thing he had ever understood. Fight, get up, fight some more, keep fighting until you win. That's how it was. He didn't have any other choice.

Right? Stan didn't blink as a light breeze ruffled through his hair. Fighting, that was _hard._ Stan had fought for all his life. Against his father, against his teachers, against his own thoughts. Stan had never lost, not once.

Yet here he was, standing at the edge of a dock. No one around, and no one to fight against. Because he hadn't won this one, had he? He'd lost. He'd lost his family, his life. His friend. What did fighting accomplish now? The _possibility_ of a future? He had no home, no money, no support. His training wheels had been torn away before he'd learned to balance and now he had fallen over, scrapped knee and a concussion on top of it all.

Fighting _hurt._ It hurt when his nose broke in third grade. It hurt when the love of his short life tore away his heart. It hurt now.

 _It doesn't have to hurt anymore._

Stan finally blinked. It was true. All he had to do was...let go. Let the reigns fall from his hands. Then the pain would be gone. He could rest. He could stop fighting.

He could stop. No more cruel teachers. No more pretending. No more broken promises.

His eyes closed, and Stan made a decision.

He let go.


	2. Too much-

**Hey! This is like a panic attack warning? Idk if any of this is remotely close to the symptoms of a panic attack, but yeah. Ford's freaking out.**

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It was too much. He couldn't handle it.

Sirens wailed around him as he kneeled beside his unconscious brother. Because that's all it was. He was just unconscious. He was just, sleeping. Yes, sleeping. Ford nodded to himself as tears ran down his face, unnoticed.

 _That doesn't explain why he isn't breathing._

Ford choked and could barely manage an undignified squeak as he was pulled aside, being forcibly moved away from his brother. He almost fought back, but these were the good guys. They would help Stan breathe. Because Stan _needed_ to breathe. He _had_ to! Breathing sent oxygen to your brain and into your lungs and without it, the entire body would cease to function.

Stan couldn't do that. He couldn't stop functioning. The white coats around him were yelling, screaming. It was too loud. Too much. Ford covered his ears. He needed to drown out the noise. He wasn't focusing. He needed to focus. Ford looked up for a moment. He needed to focus on Stan. Stan! No, they were taking Stan! Arms held him back as Ford struggled and words that were too loud- too much- reminded him that Stan needed this. This would help him breathe. It would help him function. Ford stilled and the arms led him towards an empty corner in the too bright, too loud vehicle.

Ford didn't move. He watched wide-eyed, as they helped Stan breathe. The overwhelming noise couldn't drown out the beeping. The beeping of Stan's heart. The beeping of Stan's functioning. Ford focused on the beeping.

The beeping stopped. Ford realized he wasn't breathing. He took in a deep breath. It wouldn't help if he stopped functioning too. He waited for the beeping to start again. It did.

...

Soon, the vehicle stopped and suddenly the overwhelming noise was gone, replaced by more people, more movement and then Stan was being taken away from him again. He stumbled after them, pushing his way through the mass of swarming people. Then he was in another too bright place and he followed. He didn't even try and weave through the crowd, rather he just pushed through, straight after Stan. _I have to get to Stanley._

Ford felt, rather than saw the heat of the stares around him. He could _feel_ the concern, the anger, the indignation, the curiosity. Ford ignored it. He needed to follow Stanley.

He moved until he didn't need to move anymore. A man, a white coat, stopped him from moving. He was saying something. Ford's ears felt like they were filled with water. The noise coming from the man's mouth was incomprehensible, but the man still wouldn't let him move. Until suddenly the man was gone and then other people wouldn't let him move. They made Ford sit. Ford couldn't hear them. He _needed_ to get to Stanley! Why weren't they letting him get to Stanley!?

Ford's fingers didn't stop moving. He felt more glares. He ignored them. Then a blue shirt, was it a she? Ford didn't care. She was taking him somewhere! Was it to Stanley!? He needed to get to Stanley.

The blue shirt pushed open a door and Ford breathed a sigh of relief as he ran into the room and skidded to a stop beside the bed. The beeping was there, and so was the breathing, so Stan was functioning, right? He'd made it. He was with Stanley. Ford suddenly felt light-headed. He swayed. His legs were gone, no, they gave out. Ford was in a chair. He sighed again and his head fell. It fell beside Stan's hand. His eyes closed and he instinctively grabbed hold of his brother's hand as he was abruptly pulled into darkness.


	3. Breathing-

**:P Let's both pray for fluff. *edit. Now That I have actually written this I can say 100% that this is not fluff. I should make another chapter...just one more for today...  
**

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It was...not good.

Stan groaned as he slowly starting waking up. His throat was sore, and he hadn't even used it yet. Breathing took more effort and was more painful than he would _ever_ admit. Every piece of his body was crying out it pain. Yet, even as he came to realize where he was, Stan knew that the worst thing was that he was awake.

It hadn't worked. He had tried to run. For the _first_ time in his life, he did something for _himself_ and it didn't work. He knew he'd been close, too. He had felt how the water filled and burned his lungs. He remembered being bashed against something hard- probably the pole of the dock. Or a rock. He could almost _feel_ the darkness that had overtaken him there in the water. It was on the edge of his vision, but he knew that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't go back. Not here.

Stan knew where he was. He didn't have to open his eyes to know. Where else would he be if not a hospital? Where else would the random bloke who'd 'saved' him take him? As Stan's eyes blinked open to confirm that he was indeed on a hospital bed, he realized that even though everything hurt, he didn't really mind. What was a bit more pain? He could wait. He could fight again if it meant getting out of this hospital and returning to the darkness.

Stan had made his decision. This was just a...detour. He took in another pained breath as he stared dully at the ceiling. He had been _so_ close. So close to removing the inconvenience that was him out of everyone's lives. If he had been left alone just a _moment_ longer...

"Stanley?"

A soft, familiar voice coming from Stan's left made Stan jerk his head to the side. He blinked in surprise for a moment before turning away.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Stan grumbled. He ignored how raspy his voice was. _Probably from almost drowning._

Ford didn't say anything. Stan thought maybe he heard a whine, but he couldn't be sure. His ears still felt like they were full of water. When Ford still didn't speak, Stan clenched his eyes shut and tried to cross his arms over his chest. He looked up to see one hand chained to the bed and the other being held between six white-knuckled fingers.

 _Suicide watch. Crap-_

That made things a little bit more complicated. Stan blatantly ignored the other hand. It wasn't like he cared if Ford ripped it off with how hard he was gripping it anyway. He didn't need his hand if he was going to try again. He stared at the ceiling again and tried not to think.

Unfortunately, his mind had other ideas.

 _Why is Ford here?_ He asked himself. Stan had no idea. Ford didn't want him anymore. Ford didn't want anything holding him back and Stan was holding him back, So Stan didn't matter anymore. There was no _reason_ for Ford to be there.

"I-" Ford cut off. Stan heard a loud gasp and he turned again to see Ford trying to breathe. Ford glanced up at Stan to see that Stan was looking at him, so Ford curled up on the chair and hid his face in his legs as he tried to control his sobs. Stan's eyes widened. There were no tears, Stan didn't deserve tears, but Stan noted how red Ford's eyes looked.

 _Crap, he's not okay._ Stan could feel the force of Ford's grip tightening on his hand and Stan tried his best to return it. Ford's breathing only became more erratic. For the first time since the pain at the dock, Stan felt something. Panic. Ford wasn't supposed to be in pain! Ford was _happy_ to let Stan go!

 _I shouldn't have made it._ Stan swallowed hard.

" Ford, heyheyhey, you need to breathe, okay? See?" Stan took in a deep, slow breath. Ford looked up over his legs and watched Stan as he breathed. Ford stared blankly for a moment before he slowly started to match up his breathing with Stan's. Stan felt the panic in his chest ease a bit as Ford calmed down and let his legs fall off the chair.

Ford looked...exhausted. His eyes were red in a way that must have hurt. He was lightly trembling and a red mark against his face told Stan that Ford had laid down with his glasses on. Maybe he's fallen asleep. If so, Ford needed to go back to bed. He was a mess.

Stan didn't understand _why_ , but it was obvious that Ford needed help. Yet, what could Stan do? Ford didn't even...but then...if Ford didn't _want_ to be here, then why was he?

"Stanley," Ford muttered. He was staring off to the side. Stan swallowed again.

"Yeah...?"

"You weren't breathing." Ford's lip starting trembling, and the rest of his body followed suit, shaking harder than before. Stan gaped as a stab of...of... _guilt_ ripped through him and almost made him gasp at the force of it. Ford was _hurting_. Just like Stan had been hurting. But Ford wasn't allowed to stop fighting. That wasn't _okay._

"But I am now." It wasn't exactly comforting to Stanley, but if it made Ford feel better...

Ford nodded. "Yes. They helped you breathe. You were cold and you weren't breathing but they helped." Ford stated. His head fell beside their intertwined hands and Stan just watched. It took a moment to realize the enormity of Ford's words.

 _Ford must have pulled me out of the water._

Stan's mind hit the brakes so hard he gasped, but it quickly turned into a cough. Ford's head lifted up, but Stan settled down fast enough that Ford just lied back down. Stan could see it all come together. Even he couldn't ignore the signs, but it just _didn't make sense._ Ford had let him leave, had helped in getting him kicked out. Why would Ford still _care!?_

 _"Stanley._ "

Stan squeezed Ford's hand lightly and Ford hummed. Stan's brow furrowed. Ford wasn't...acting like Ford. He sounded so...so... _broken._

"Hey, Ford?"

Ford hummed again.

"Why are you here?" Stan asked it with steady words, keeping it monotone.

No point in giving himself hope. Ford blinked as if confused. It almost made Stan laugh. Ford looked like an owl.

"You weren't breathing." He stated it as if that explained everything. Stan's brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I know, but why are _you_ here? I know why _I'm_ here, but you should be at home. Or school. What time is it?" Stan asked without much real curiosity, but Ford answered anyway.

Ford glanced at his watch. A watch Stan had gotten him. "It's one a.m."

Stan raised a brow. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"You weren't _breathing,"_ Ford growled. Stan leaned back into his pillow, eyes wide.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Stan smiled tensely at him. "But I'm breathing now, so why don't you sleep?"

Ford seemed to think about it until he sighed. "Yes. Okay. But you have to promise." Ford looked at him with an intensity Stan hadn't seen before now. "You can't stop breathing."

Stan's brow furrowed. He couldn't do that. Not if he was still going to...

 _but are you?_

Stan realized with surprise that he wasn't. A numbness he hadn't realized he had was gone and Stan realized that _he didn't want to die._ Not if it meant that Ford would, would be like _this._ Stan gave Ford a small, but real smile and sighed.

"I promise, Sixer. Just go to sleep. We can talk in the morning." Stan ran his thumb over Ford's still white knuckles and as soon as Ford's head hit the mattress, he swore he was never going to leave Ford again. Even if Ford wanted him to. That thought stayed with him as he closed his eyes, his own exhaustion getting the best of him.

 _Get better, Poindexter. Please._


	4. Stuck with me

**LET'S SEE IF I CAN WRITE FLUFF THIS TIME. * EDIT. I CAN'T  
**

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It was bright, but Ford didn't feel like it was blinding him anymore.

He lifted his head off the edge of the mattress and studied his surroundings. Everything was a blur in his memory, but he knew he was in a hospital, and he knew why.

 _How could you do it, Stanley? How could you try and...you were fine! You were supposed to be fine, Stanley._ Ford sat up fully and stared at Stan's sleeping face. He looked almost peaceful, considering everything that had happened. Ford wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he certainly didn't expect any of _this._

All his life, Stan had been his rock. He wasn't sure when he'd forgotten that, but it was true. Stan was the one who kept his spirits up when his anxiety started to get him down, started to make him spiral. Stan was the one who protected him without question and with everything had when Ford was attacked. Even if the attack wasn't physical. Stan would beat the enemy down with words and pick up Ford's fallen pieces after the fact. Ford blinked as he went through everything Stan did.

Stan made him take care of himself when he forgot. He reminded him that teachers weren't perfect, that his essay was, the teacher just didn't like him. {Which was actually true, the teacher was sick of being showed up in his own classroom.} He kept Ford _sane_ during finals every year. He was the one who was always by his side while he was hurting.

Where had Ford been? How long had Stan been hurting?

Ford wasn't completely incompetent on human emotion. He had once read a book about psychology. He knew that people like...like _Stan._ People who tried to take their own life didn't just _decide_ to die one day. It was like a bomb. Lots of build up until one day they just...explode. But just like a bomb, it needed a trigger. A switch. Ford swallowed hard.

 _I was his switch._

Just three days ago, Ford had accused Stan of ruining his chances into the most prestigious school in the _world._ West coast tech. Ford had been so excited, he had plans drawn up and even an entire schedule drawn out on what his days would look like.

Now that he thought about it, Stan wasn't in any of it. Ford felt an acute pain in his chest as the thought entered his mind. Ford was well acquainted with this pain.

 _Guilt._

No matter what he tried, guilt was never easily absolved by reasoning or facts. It didn't help the facts were against him on this one. Fact number one, Stan wasn't fine and Ford hadn't noticed. He knew it must have been going on for a while. Things like these had roots, roots that either withered away or grew and fact number two was that Ford had not only not noticed, but he'd fed into it. He'd given this, this _depression_ , even more, to feed on. He pushed Stan away towards the growing roots, rather than tried to pull him out and fact number three was that it had escalated too far. Stan had been done. Done with Ford, done with himself, done with life.

Ford couldn't believe how it had happened. Not only the fact that he'd pushed Stan to this, but that he had even managed to stop it.

Ford had been driving aimlessly, trying to blow off steam without wrecking anything. He had nearly taken out his frustrations on the contents of his room, but considering the several unstable things he had lying around, self-preservation quickly took over and instead he grabbed the keys to his father's car and told Filbrick, almost spitting it, that he would be back.

Filbrick watched him leave without interfering. He never stopped Ford from doing anything. _Because I'm the 'good' kid. I'm the USEFUL kid. Ford felt the realization like a brick to the chest._

 _He would have to deal with that later._

As Ford had left the house, he knew that he was wasting gas, that there was no point in driving aimlessly. Despite this, he kept going. Eventually, he landed at the end of the dock. He parked the car.

This had been a safe place for him at one time or another. Maybe it would be again. He clambered out of the car-

and froze. A man was standing at the edge of the dock, leaning dangerously over the rail. Ford wasn't concerned at first. The dock was safe enough, and most everyone in Glass shard could swim. Ford huffed, slightly annoyed at not having the place completely to himself and sat on a bench towards the middle of the dock. He stared out into the water, watching the subpar sunset fall over the horizon.

 _Splash!_ Ford jerked around with just enough time to find that the man had gone over. Ford raced over to where the man had fallen, expecting the man to surface and swim back to shore. Surely he'd fallen on accident.

Ford watched with wide eyes when the only thing that surfaced were air bubbles. Ford kicked off his shoes and dived over the rail. Ford was a good swimmer. He had been doing it since infancy, and he knew these waters. He swam deeper until he glanced the man {Ford squinted, thinking he look familiar, but his glasses had fallen off} beside the pole that helped keep the dock up. The man wasn't moving. Ford grabbed him by his shirt and dragged them both back towards the surface. He couldn't believe this was happening. He gasped as they both surfaced and he continuously spat out the salty ocean water as he blindly led them both back to shore. The man still wasn't moving. Ford was shaking from the cold water.

 _I don't know CPR! What am I supposed to... Wait- the bait shop!_ Ford ran up back towards the dock and still without his glasses, banged his hand on the store's door. He thanked his lucky stars that someone was still there.

"Call an ambulance! A man just jumped over the dock rail! He nearly drowned!" Ford gasped in breathe between sentences. He really wasn't one for unexpected physical exertion. The man inside surged towards the store's only phone and Ford scrambled to get back to the man and bring him to the dock. Before he made it though, he quickly grabbed an extra pair of glasses from within his father's car. Filbrick didn't know about them since he had assumed Stanley had broken his, but Ford quickly shoved Stanley's unused glasses onto his face and ran back. He was faster, more confident now that he could see.

The man was exactly where Ford had left him. Ford grunted as he tried to move the man and eventually fell on one knee, using his legs to lift the man. He carried him up from the bank up to the dock, where Ford could finally get a good look at him in the light of the dock's bait shop.

His jaw dropped.

" _STANLEY!"_

 _..._

Ford shook his head as he cleared the event from his mind. That moment, even just less than thirty-eight hours ago, had been the worst one of his life. In the amount of time, it took for his eyes to tell his brain that his brother had just tried to _kill himself_ , Ford's anger had dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming panic and then he just...broke. He could barely think straight. Ford could barely recall what had happened after that. The paramedics, the noise, the way there and suddenly waking up, yet still unable to think was all a blur. He knew they'd happened, yet, he couldn't remember the details.

It was a bit frustrating. Ford growled at himself, irritated. Absolutely nothing about this situation was okay.

Ford blinked and looked down as a soft pressure tugged on Ford's hand. He realized Stan and he was holding hands. _Okay then._ Ford returned the pressure and leaned back, his face drawn in a frown.

He was done crying. Crying wasn't going to help anymore, but yet Ford could still feel it. A nervousness, _a fear,_ that something else was going to go wrong, that maybe he'd broken Stan too much. That he'd been too late.

 _Hnnng._

Ford watched Stan stir in his sleep. Maybe...maybe if Stan would wake up, then it would be okay. Then they could talk and then Ford could fix it. Then maybe Stan wouldn't want to leave and he would come back and everything would go back to normal. Not recent normal, a good normal, when west coast tech didn't even exist and they were nothing more than two boys waiting for a grand adventure.

Maybe.

Stan was getting more restless. Ford contemplated whether or not he should wake him up. If he was having a nightmare...

 _Everything is a nightmare right now. It couldn't be worse than this, could it?_

Despite his reservations on taking Stan from much-needed rest, Stan yelped out in his sleep, obviously in the beginnings of a nightmare and Ford quickly shook Stan's shoulder.

"Stanley, you need to wake up." Ford urged. Stan's eyes shot open and he started hyperventilating. Ford pushed him back onto the mattress. "Woah! Stan, you're okay." _Ha, that's funny,_ " You were having a nightmare."

Stan stared at him in disbelief for a moment before his breathing started to even out again and he swallowed. He was staring at Ford intensely. Ford raised a brow, trying to hold back a grin as a wave of relief washed over him. He had no idea how tense he'd been until Stan finally woke up.

"Guess you're back to normal then," Stan said dully. He didn't elaborate, forcing Ford to ask;

"Back to normal?"

Stan coughed and looked away pointedly. "uh, yeah."

Ford's brow furrowed, but he could only chalk it up to the blurry memories and how chopped up everything had seemed, even his thoughts. Like his world had been falling apart into pieces.

"What did I do? When I was acting...not normal." Ford asked, fingers tapping against the chair. He wanted nothing more to reach out and wrap his brother in the largest, longest embrace he could manage, but Stan wasn't even looking at him. Ford sincerely hoped he hadn't said anything he'd regret now.

Stan shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "You kept saying 'you weren't breathing'. Basically. I think you had some sorta attack or somethin' too." He admitted. "You weren't exactly making much, well, you made sense, you just also didn't make sense." Stan summed up. Ford almost smirked. This felt more normal, conversating with his brother about how Ford never made sense. It was a common teasing topic between them, yet now it held nothing but...sadness, confusion.

"I guess I just don't get it," Stan mumbled. Ford's frown deepened.

"Don't understand what?" Ford was marveling over how they were actually managing to talk. He hadn't expected the conversation to start so easily. Stan moved his head to stare at him again. Ford forced back a shudder as Stan's dark, empty eyes glared at him.

"Why you care. You never really explained that. Just kept repeatin' yourself."

Ford felt the words like a physical force, making his throat close up and his chest tighten. He was right, Stanley thought Ford didn't care. He thought that, that Ford would... _want_ him gone.

"No."

Stan raised a brow and Ford cleared his throat.

"Stanley..." Ford finally stop repressing it and he started trembling. Stan's eyes blew wide open.

"Heyheyhey, none of that!" Stan tugged on Ford's hand and Ford took it as an invitation. He fell over and wrapped his arms around Stanley's torso.

"I don't want to lose you, Stanley. Please." The fear was obvious in his voice and Ford was almost embarrassed when Stan started combing his free hand through Ford's hair. Ford couldn't stop shaking.

Stan laughed, _actually laughed_ and spoke with more than the dull confusion from before. Ford felt another wave of relief hit him. Stan sounded _alive._

"Ford, I've tried it, and I don't think death is for me if you know what I'm sayin'." Ford could hear the smile in Stan's voice. Ford finally smiled, and if a single tear fell, neither of them mentioned it.

...

If there was one thing Stan hated, it was indecision. When he made a decision, he stuck by it. Unless he _had_ to change his mind. Then he wouldn't change it again. Even if he had ordered the wrong burrito, he would just keep the one he'd accidentally ordered. It was food, why complain? So Stan had finally made up his mind.

He had already changed his mind once. He couldn't do it again.

Guess Ford was stuck with him. The thought made him grin.

"You know you're never getting rid of me now?" Stan mumbled. Ford still hadn't let him go.

Ford huffed, but it sounded suspiciously like an attempt at laughter.

"Likewise, ya knucklehead."

* * *

 **So...I'm not sure this is over but I made it purposefully like this so that it could go on, but the ending isn't a complete cliffhanger? Just in case I don't continue it. Anyway! I was having a good morning, so obviously, a suicide fic was in order. Man, I have issues. Love ya guys.**

 **Ford: I...this story...**

 **Stan: This was a lot.**

 **Ford: You wrote all of this-this morning, Carmen!? No prep, no _anything!?_**

 **Me: Haha yeah...**

 **Ford: Are you...okay?**

 **Me *watching Sherlock and eating a plastic plate.*: Yeah, yer point?**

 **XD I'm kidding. About Sherlock. XD Anyway, hope you enjoyed and don't die all. {Seriously.}**


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